195

195
Emilia’s POV
The package sat on the dining table like a live grenade, wrapped in pristine white paper and tied with an elegant gold ribbon. It was undeniably expensive. Alaric stared at it from across the room, his arms crossed over his chest, a muscle in his jaw ticking with unrestrained fury.
“This is how he operates,” Alaric muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “First letters, now gifts. He’s testing boundaries, trying to worm his way into your head.”
I ran my fingers over the ribbon, a knot forming in my stomach. The card attached bore only one word: Francesca.
“It’s not for me,” I said quietly, though my voice didn’t carry the conviction I wanted.
Alaric scoffed, stepping closer, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his anger. “Don’t be naive, Emilia. It doesn’t matter who it’s addressed to. This is about you. Always has been.”
I didn’t look at him. Instead, I focused on the neat handwriting and the deliberate simplicity of the card. “What harm can a gift do?”
Alaric’s hand slammed onto the table, making me flinch. “You’re joking, right?” His voice was louder now, and I could feel the heat of his glare. “This isn’t about the gift. It’s about control. Alonso’s trying to get under my skin-and yours.”
“Maybe it’s not that deep,” I shot back, standing up straighter. “Maybe he just wanted to send something for Francesca because he knows she’s sick.”
Alaric laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of any humor. “You think a man like Alonso Cruz does anything without an agenda? Open your eyes, Emilia.”
I hated the way his words stung, as if they peeled back a layer of my own uncertainty and exposed the raw confusion underneath. I didn’t want to defend Alonso, not after everything, but I also couldn’t shake the nagging voice in my head reminding me that he’d seemed genuine during our last conversation.
“Fine,” I said, stepping back from the table and crossing my arms. “If it’s such a big deal, just throw it out. Burn it, if that’ll make you feel better.”
Alaric’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might actually do it. Instead, he leaned over the table, grabbed the package, and ripped it open with a ferocity that startled me.
Inside was a delicate music box, carved from dark wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It was exquisite, the kind of thing you’d expect to find in an antique shop rather than as a token from a man like Alonso.
Alaric flicked the latch and opened it. A soft, haunting melody filled the room, delicate and bittersweet. Francesca’s name was engraved on the inside of the lid, along with a short phrase in Spanish: Para el alma que ilumina en la oscuridad.
“For the soul that lights up the darkness,” I murmured, translating the words aloud.
Alaric snapped the box shut, cutting off the music abruptly. “More manipulation,” he growled. “He’s trying to make you feel something for him.”
“Maybe he’s trying to make amends,” I countered, my voice sharper than I intended.
Alaric’s head whipped toward me, his dark eyes blazing. “Amends? You think a music box can erase everything he’s done? Everything he’s taken?”
“I’m not saying it can,” I said, holding my ground. “But maybe-just maybe-he’s trying to change.”
“Change?” Alaric spat the word like it was poison. “You don’t change when you’ve built an empire on blood and lies. You don’t change when you’ve spent decades ruining lives.”
His words hit like a hammer, but I refused to back down. “Not everyone’s as black-and-white as you, Alaric. People are complicated. Situations are complicated.”
“This isn’t complicated, Emilia,” he snapped. “This is war. Alonso Cruz is the enemy, and you’re playing right into his hands.”
“I’m not playing anything!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “I’m just trying to make sense of all this, and you’re making it impossible.”
For a moment, the room was silent except for the heavy sound of our breathing. Francesca’s soft footsteps broke the tension, and we both turned to see her standing in the doorway, pale and unsteady but clearly curious about the commotion.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice weak but laced with concern.
Alaric softened immediately, his entire demeanor shifting as he moved toward her. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said, his voice gentle now.
Her gaze flicked to the music box in his hand. “Is that for me?”
I nodded quickly, stepping forward before Alaric could say anything. “Yes. It’s a gift. Someone thought you might like it.”
Francesca’s face lit up with a faint smile, and for a moment, I felt relief wash over me. She reached out for the box, and Alaric hesitated before finally handing it to her.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings. “Who sent it?”
“No one important,” Alaric said quickly, but Francesca’s sharp eyes turned to me.
I hesitated, knowing the truth would only spark more conflict. “A friend,” I said finally, avoiding her gaze.
Francesca didn’t push, instead settling into a nearby chair and opening the box again. The melody filled the room once more, and she closed her eyes, a contented expression spreading across her face.
Alaric’s hand found my arm, his grip firm as he steered me out of the room. Once we were in the hallway, he turned to me, his expression dark.
“This stops now,” he said, his voice low but no less intense. “No more gifts. No more letters. No more Alonso.”
“And what if he doesn’t stop?” I challenged, my heart pounding. “What if he keeps trying to reach out? You can’t control everything, Alaric.”
“I can control this,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I pulled away from him, frustration boiling over. “This isn’t about protecting me anymore. This is about your ego. You’re so consumed by your hatred for Alonso that you can’t see anything else.”
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might explode. But then he stepped back, his jaw tight. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, surprising me. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Alonso is dangerous. And I won’t let him hurt you-or Francesca.”
I wanted to argue, to push back against his unyielding stance, but the weight of his words hung between us, impossible to ignore.
“I just need time to figure this out,” I said finally, my voice softer now.
Alaric didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter but no less firm. “You’ve had enough time. It’s him or me, Emilia. You need to decide.”
The ultimatum hit me like a punch to the gut, and I stared at him, struggling to process his words. Alaric held my gaze for a moment longer before turning and walking away, leaving me alone with the melody of the music box echoing in my ears.